Mélodie
by Castalia
Summary: Mika and Tohma tell their story. Prequel to the series.
1. Prelude

**Mélodie**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own, nor am I in any way officially affiliated with, the characters in this story. Gravitation is the original creation of Maki Murakami.  
_A/N_: For random chapter and story notes, please see my profile.

* * *

**Prelude**  
_Mika_

I was fifteen the year our mother died.

Sometimes, when I look through old photographs, I can remember her voice and the way she moved. I can remember her smile, and the way her cooking tasted, and all the best moments of my childhood. I can remember her life. Uesugi Takara was a beautiful, kind woman, and a loving mother. There are a lot of people who are not so lucky, and I had her for fifteen years. I can remember that, when I try. So I suppose...it's really terrible that most of the time...I only remember her death.

I remember...she left us behind. Left me alone. Left _us_ alone.

Even before that, it was not easy to get close to my father. He was, and is, technically a good man...if weighed on the scales of moral exactitude and duty, and not on the scales of love. I don't think he even knew how to be affectionate with someone other than our mother. Even then, his was a possessive love. I really think he almost saw his children as rivals for his Takara's devotion. But at least when he had her, he had something in his life other than duty.

I don't question for a moment that her death devastated him. Yet grief can sometimes be a selfish, petty thing. When she died, what little softness there was in him died, too. He turned to his duty to the temple, to the coldness of daily ritual, and from then on, he closed himself off to everyone. It was as if he buried the best part of his soul with her.

In a sense, I became an orphan, and a mother to my little brothers. I honestly don't know how we got through that time. At least Tatsuha was barely a year old then, and primarily the responsibility of his nanny. He didn't understand what had happened—how could he? But Eiri...oh, my Eiri...

Eiri was always such a sensitive child, precocious and perceptive. All it took to hurt him was one harsh word, one glare. He was shattered. "Inconsolable" is just a word until you see it in the face of a seven-year-old boy who's lost his mother. And truthfully, I wasn't much better off.

I had always loved and protected my little brother. There wasn't much sibling rivalry between us. It was far too easy to hurt him, and I always felt so guilty afterward. Now we clung to each other desperately in our grief. When he realized our mother was gone forever, he developed a fear—nearly a phobia—that I would leave him, too. For the first couple of months he woke up shaking and sobbing almost every night.

There was nothing for it but to have him sleep in my room. When he woke, so did I. I'd sit next to him on his futon and hold him until he was reassured that I was still there. Usually, we wept together until we were both exhausted and he fell asleep in my arms. Sometimes I woke up still holding his hand.

I lost a lot of sleep during that time, but I can hardly describe how close we grew.

In time, it seemed almost as though we ran out of grief. The loss of our mother was no longer quite so sharp and tearing. It gave way to numbness, then sorrow, softer and easier to bear. Eiri's nightmares became less frequent, and there were whole days when I didn't have to run and find somewhere to cry.

Mom died in the spring. By fall, we were able to face school again...more solemn than the other students, perhaps, but not anguished. And the bond between us had not lessened.

After our first day back, I chose not to hang around to socialize with the other students of my high school. Instead, I stood in front of the primary school for nearly an hour. When the class let out, Eiri looked so anxious and alone until he spotted me; then he ran to hug me, relief written all over his face. It was all the reward I needed.

We walked home together every day after that. Other girls in my class went shopping. They invited me at first, but I always turned them down. Eventually, the friends who'd stayed with me even through the mourning period drifted away. They were sympathetic, but (correctly, I guess) pointed out to me that I didn't have time for them anymore, anyway. Word started to get around that I was a little odd; boys took the hint and left me alone.

Actually, I wouldn't have minded the company at school...it was just that Eiri needed me after school more than I needed to waste time and money shopping for earrings. Our walks home had become special. He would quietly tell me all his little daily troubles with perfect trust, and somehow helping him with his problems always made me feel better about mine.

The routine helped us both feel more secure, I think. At that time, in that place, there was nothing more important. We helped each other heal. By winter, we were almost happy, and by then, I knew that things could keep getting better. Grief heals quickly in your youth, and I was so young.

I was so sure that we'd weathered the worst life had to offer. We'd suffered a great loss, but had gained a closer friendship than most siblings ever have, and it was unassailable. Nothing bad would ever happen to us again.

I was so young.


	2. Pensieroso

A/N: Musical definitions are provided after the chapter.

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**Pensieroso**  
_Tohma_

I owe all of my accomplishments to my parents. So I have always said in public. All I have to do is add a smile, and it never fails to gain the reaction that I have planned.

_Affabilita_. Appearances are everything. Know yours and how it works, and you have won half the battle. I learned that from my parents, though it was not their intention to teach me. So it is true. I owe all of my accomplishments to them.

It does not matter that it is not in the sense that people assume.

My parents are wealthy. They are not happy. They are not warm. They are not nurturing. They are successful. They are...careful.

Is that shocking? I never thought so. The Seguchis are a fixture. They have a Place in Society, which is much like having a place in society, but with catering. The Place comes with expectations. The Seguchis are a corporation. They meet demand with supply.

Society demands a certain careful architecture of life from the head of a large and prestigious international commodities brokerage. Everything in my father's life was an element of that construction. He needed the perfect past, the perfect present. He needed a respectable, well-established old family name. He had it. He needed the impeccably maintained multiple residences, ancestral and modern. He had them. He needed an attractive wife with her own fine family name. He got her.

He needed the perfect future. He needed a son.

My mother and I lived in Kyoto, in the perfect old Seguchi family estate. My father divided his time between it and the Tokyo residence close to his corporation's main office. He kept a delicately modest personal staff to attend to our needs—neither so many servants that he would be judged wasteful and indulgent, nor so few that he appeared stingy and grasping.

Among those staff were my handlers and trainers. My father required his son to be quiet, clean, obedient, mannerly, and studious. Discreetly handpicked private tutors, brought in a couple of years before formal schooling was to begin, ensured that I would be seen as an excellent student. Musical training in a classical style, from a live-in instructor, would complete the picture nicely. It would be the piano, not the violin. Mistakes on a piano are not half as unmelodious. His son would be a bright boy.

Traditional Japanese family values, thy name is Seguchi.

It was beautifully orchestrated. Perhaps that is why I smile when someone describes me as "composed".

When I was old enough to be counted upon to comport myself properly, my father instituted the next step in his plan. He began taking me back to Tokyo with him occasionally, so that I could see my future. He wanted me to learn.

I watched. I listened. I learned. _Peu a peu_.

I came to understand why the Seguchi life was so meticulously ordered. Less skillful men came to deal with my father bluntly, thinking themselves strong, only to be overthrown by one tiny detail. I saw how he assessed situations, breaking them down into their smallest facts, and how he coldly rearranged them until they suited his purposes. I saw how successful his approach had made him.

I knew I could be better.

When my father decided I should learn to play the piano, he was thinking only of his image. He did not know that he had unwittingly given me a key. He did not understand music.

There is something deceptively simple about a piano. It is 88 black and white keys, lined up neatly, each corresponding to a specific note. All you must do to make each note sound is press the key. Cold logic deduces that once you know how to read a sheet of the notes, and which keys to press, all that remains is to keep the proper tempi and coordinate your fingers. A computer would do quite well; it can calculate time in terms of milliseconds, and does what it is programmed to do, unhampered by such organic things as muscle memory or coordination.

So logic says. Yet computers, playing the piano, do not make music. Computers make sound.

Logic by itself is useless.

This unsuspected key my father gave me taught me a great deal. I learned that facts are not truth, for there is that which cannot be broken into facts. Music is not mere notes strung together, nor volume, nor pace, nor interval. Music is something impalpable except in actual experience; something that moves a part of us untouchable by plain facts and logic, though it requires them. Music is...

...Human.

If you understand one, you understand the other. Both require logic for structure and stability, but contain an element of unpredictability and emotion. Combined, they are no simple mixture, but something entirely new. Precision leads into and contains imprecision. Music and humanity are matters of nuance.

Therefore, power rests neither entirely in facts nor in emotion. In ignoring emotion in favor of facts, or facts in favor of emotion, you rob yourself of any hope of real control. Even once you find the balance, it takes time to gain an understanding of it—and it is as impossible to master it as it is to embrace the wind. Yet with enough patience...

...you can get very, very good.

My childhood was perhaps a bit chilly, but I had music, and so I was not unhappy.

I was planning.

* * *

_affabilita_ – with ease and elegance; affability; in a pleasing and agreeable manner  
_pensieroso_ – contemplative, thoughtful  
_peu a peu – _little by little 


	3. Dolcissimo

_A/N_: Definitions for non-English words provided after the chapter.

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**Dolcissimo**  
_Mika_

January seemed to come over Kyoto quite suddenly that winter. With our father so withdrawn, the year's-end temple matters were much further from my life than usual. It came almost as a shock to find myself eating _toshikoshi-soba_ and watching people gather for the striking of the gongs. Almost before I knew it, I was trying to button up Eiri's overcoat as we prepared for the first day of the new school term.

I really must emphasize the word "trying". Eiri was a sweet little boy, but he was never in his life a morning person, and he was thwarting my designs with a mixture of sleepiness and indignation. "You're poking me, Oneesan," he complained, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand.

His movements made it nigh impossible for me to get the top button fastened. I sighed in frustration. "Well, I wouldn't if you'd just hold still and stop rubbing your eyes."

"I'm sleepy, and I can dress myself, too." He let his arms drop to his sides obediently, but his expression was reproachful as I went after the elusive top button again. "I'm almost eight!"

Despite myself, I had to smile at his affronted tone, even as I gave the hem of his coat (buttoned at long last) a little tug to smooth the fabric. "I know you can dress yourself, you just take too long. I want to get to school early today. Don't you?" I reached for his scarf next.

"I don't know, Oneesan, I—mmph mmph, I don't want the scarf on my face—isn't it just school?" He tilted his head to one side and regarded me quizzically, his wounded pride forgotten.

"It's the first day of school, so it's extra important to be prompt. Please put on your mittens." I followed my own directive, grabbing our school bags and winding my scarf around my neck while I shooed Eiri out the door. "Besides, this will be my last term as a first year student. Isn't that kind of exciting?"

Unconvinced, my little brother shot me his _I-love-you-but-you're-crazy _look, then fell silent, still too drowsy to question me further. As we made our way through the temple courtyard, fresh snow crunched underfoot. It would be swept away later, but for now, everything was pristine, matching my hopes for the new year.

I had a feeling that things were finally looking up. My first two terms as a freshman had been marred by sorrow, so I hadn't had much of an opportunity to enjoy being in high school. The new year was a clean slate, and I promised myself that I'd really make the most of it—study hard, maybe even join an after-school club. Provided, of course, that I could get Eiri to join one at _his_ school, so that he wouldn't have to walk home alone.

I glanced down at him, trying to gauge how awake he was. Even despite the cold weather, he was still yawning along and blinking at the brightness of the light reflected from the snow. Oh, well. We'd be getting lists of the clubs at both of our schools today, so there was no point worrying about it right now. I could look them over and see if there was anything appealing before I brought it up to Eiri...and more especially, to my father.

Mom had been very proud of me for choosing, and qualifying for, an academic track at one of the best high schools in the area. My father wasn't all that thrilled, even though I had decided to study to become a teacher. Fair was fair, though—_I_ wasn't overjoyed by _his_ notions for my future. I knew he still intended for me to marry into another temple family.

Actually, that was part of why I'd gone for the academic track. Going to university, or even a junior college, would put me out of his reach for a little while. And even though I knew a lot of girls in my class would be using junior college as a preparation for marriage, I didn't have to. I could go get a real job somewhere other than Kyoto. _Maybe even in another country_, I told myself sometimes. That thought always brought on an excited little shiver. What country would I choose? England? America?

We were at Eiri's school now, and I suddenly realized I'd been daydreaming the whole way there. _Big goals, Uesugi Mika, but you have to work harder and get your head out of the clouds if you want any of them to come true_, I chided myself. I bent and hugged Eiri, who gave me a quick, self-conscious little kiss on the cheek. "Be good..." I started. He grinned, picking up the second half of my standard admonishment.

"...and listen to the teacher," we chorused. I handed him his school bag, waved, then hurried off to my own school, mind buzzing with anticipation and my resolve to start the new term properly. Rolling Eiri out of bed extra-early paid off; I was one of the first students to my class, and even had time to chat with some of the other girls.

The morning classes flew by. At lunch, Ishida Kyoko scooted her desk over to mine, immediately followed by almost half the girls in our class. Kyoko was quite popular, and we'd been good friends before. "It's nice to see you smiling again," was all she said before the discussion turned to what people had done or gotten for Christmas, and the upcoming music festival. Everyone seemed to be excited about the festival. It was the first school event on the term calendar we'd been given. I listened more than I talked, but it felt surprisingly nice to be included again.

After school, I stayed behind to ask my teacher about the second-year classes, and what I should concentrate on. We talked a little longer than I'd planned, but I wasn't worried. The elementary school classes always took longer to clean their classrooms, and with all the snow on the ground, there was sure to be plenty of mud to wipe up. All in all, I couldn't have been much happier about the day as I started off towards Eiri's school. I could hardly wait to tell him how great everything had been. Despite, or maybe because of, the eight-year difference in our ages, it always made him so happy and proud when I confided in him. I knew he'd be pleased for me.

I hate it when life sets you up for a fall.

Since I was later than usual, Eiri's class had already been let out by the time I arrived, and there were a fair number of children milling around in front, playing or just waiting for a bus or for someone to pick them up. Many of them were evidently working out their high spirits after the first day cooped up in class following our few weeks' break. General confusion seemed to be the rule...but it wasn't hard to pick out Eiri, even ignoring his blond hair.

He was the only one standing alone.

His head was bowed, and he was looking so fixedly at the ground that he didn't even notice me until I walked right up to him and touched his shoulder. He jumped, then grabbed my hand and clung to it with both of his, but he didn't say anything. That worried me. Eiri was hardly a chatterbox, but it was unlike him not even to offer a greeting.

Still, I didn't press the issue yet. With so many people around, it would be pointless—I'd never get him to open up about whatever was bothering him. _Maybe he has a new teacher this term...or...he has homework that he doesn't want to do, or he got a question wrong and the teacher corrected him in front of the class._ It was probably something like that. I hoped.

I knew I was wrong when I heard a little sniffle about halfway back. When I looked down at him, tears were sliding forlornly down his cheeks. Eiri rarely sobbed or wailed, but I always found his peculiarly silent weeping twice as affecting...and not a little unnerving.

Fortunately, we were on a street where most of the old-fashioned shops were still closed for _O-shogatsu_ celebrations, so there was an empty bench nearby. I led him over to it and relieved him of his school bag before I pulled him onto my lap, thanking heaven for the mercy that he was small for his age and still fit. "All right," I said soothingly, "tell me what happened."

"_Oh, Oneesan_..." He threw his arms around my neck and buried his face against my shoulder. "...You _are_ my sister, aren't you?"

"What? Of course I am!" I wasn't prepared for that one. Sometimes you overlook the obvious. "Did someone say I wasn't?"

He nodded miserably, the amazing tears still trickling from his eyes. "Jiro did. He said I was probably some kind of monster." There was a pause as he burrowed closer against me in denial. His next words were muffled in my coat, but I was able to make out a tremulous, "I'm not...am I?"

"You most certainly are not." In retrospect, I guess it's a little funny that Eiri was seriously worried about being a monster, but at the time, I only felt sad.

"But...we don't look at all alike. Your hair is so dark, and mine isn't. It's ugly and...and I hate it!"

"Don't be silly, your hair isn't ugly." In the thin winter light, his hair was a pure, pale gold, sparkling where it caught the sun as I stroked it. How could anyone call that ugly? "It's just different. Besides, we do so look alike."

With some difficulty, I reached around him and fished a small mirror out of my bag, then held it at arm's length. I nudged him to make him look, leaning forward to put my cheek against his. "We have the same face, do you see?"

He regarded the mirror solemnly, the tears slowly stopping, and I hoped that was seeing what I was. We really did have the same facial structure—the family resemblance was so strong that even my father, who'd been quite surprised by the arrival of a blond baby, could not deny that Eiri was his child. After a moment, Eiri nodded slowly. "I do...but..."

I cut him off before he could finish, closing the mirror and turning him by the shoulders so that I could look him in the eye. "No buts. What does your heart tell you?"

"...You're my sister." He hesitated; I didn't.

"Mine says you're my brother."

He looked thoughtful at that, working it out in his mind. "Then...we have the same heart, too?"

His question brought my smile back, and I suddenly felt just as happy as I had been before. "That's right. And anyone who says differently doesn't know what they're talking about."

Eiri seemed to be satisfied by that, so I put the mirror away and handed him a tissue, and we got up. His good humor seemed to be fully restored by the time we got to the temple's gate. It wasn't until then that the thought occurred to me.

_I really hope this isn't going to happen again_.

* * *

_  
dolcissimo_ – played very sweetly  
_O-shogatsu_ – Japanese New Year season, sometimes celebrated for several days, esp. by the traditionally-minded  
_Oneesan_ – "big sister", term of address  
_toshikoshi-soba_ – lit. "Across the Years Noodles"; traditional Japanese New Years dish, eaten around midnight so that they bridge one year and the next 

_A/N_: With special thanks to Kyoko for help with the Japanese customs and words, since I'm a poor, clueless Kor-Am raised on Hamburger Helper and mac-and-cheese. ;) Look, I named the popular girl after you!


	4. Subito

_A/N_: Definitions and relevant historical blurbs are provided at the end of the chapter.

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**Subito**  
_Tohma_

It is a rare thing in life to be able to name a specific day that determined one's future, but I can. Though I spent much of my teens laying down groundwork and planning my escape from my father's world, I was essentially idling. Things did not begin to pick up momentum until I was seventeen, in my last term as a junior in high school.

Like many other schools in the region, Nagayama Senior High School reserved its cultural festivals for the second and third terms, when Kyoto winters made outdoor activities impossible. The annual music festival held pride of place, and was always strategically scheduled between January and February, just as students' general restlessness threatened to turn disruptive. I was never sure whether to look forward to it or to dread it.

On the one hand, it was music. At that point, music was the only element of sweetness in my life; it was my only passion, and I had long since decided that it would also be the key to my future. On the other hand, it was music by high school students, and many of them were armed with imperfectly tuned string instruments.

The latter consideration, I must say, was dominant in my mind on the day of the festival itself. After lunch, we were all herded into what the faculty persisted in calling the "auditorium". The name suggested something grand and stately. The reality was a long room created by clearing away the screens that normally separated it into more useful sections for various vocational classes. A spirited attempt had been made at constructing a stage, but the builders had been somewhat hindered by the modest height of the ceiling. It did not rise majestically; it huddled, lest taller performers brain themselves on the overhead lights.

It was always the same. Every year, the organizers tried so hard to impose order, to make the setting impressive, and yet every year it was the same. I chose a seat in the center, watching with amusement as the neat rows of chairs quickly degenerated into haphazard clusters as students found their own particular friends. I was somewhat less amused when the inevitable cluster formed around _my_ chair, led by Terada Akio.

"Tohma-kun, there you are! Hiding in the middle, are you?" If there were one word to describe Akio, it would be _overly_, as in overly loud, overly confident, and overly familiar. He considered himself a friend of mine. As the Teradas had some business association with my father, I was not at leisure to disabuse him of the notion. Besides, young though I was, I was old enough to realize that there are sometimes benefits to allowing those you despise to believe in a friendship that does not exist.

"Terada-san." I smiled at him politely, secure in the knowledge that he had not the wit to read either insult or rebuke into my perfunctory greeting. I also smiled at those he brought with him, all either cut from the same cloth as Akio, or else hangers-on and sycophants. _Sempre amabile_. With a face like mine, it is a good strategy. It worked well enough on that bumptious crowd that I was able to then ignore them, as I did every day, without anyone taking offense.

Within a few minutes, everyone had found a chair, and the buzz of chatter was mercifully cut short as all of the lights were turned off. After a brief moment of confusion by the student at the switch, the lights above the stage were turned back on, and the principal made a few brief opening remarks, mostly explaining the program's format.

Someone on the organizing committee had decided it would be a brilliant idea to group the performers into solid blocks by genre. As one of those performers, I was quite aware of that, as well as the fact that those selecting from the classical repertoire would be leading, so I was able to direct my attention somewhere more useful during his speech. I counted twenty-three students who left the room as soon as he was finished. Those would be the vocalists, going off to warm up in another room. Twenty-three was fewer than I had hoped, but then again, I was not tremendously optimistic about finding what I was looking for at school. Ah, well. In any case, there was nothing to do but wait and see.

I glanced back to the front as the first performer of the afternoon took the stage. She was a tiny freshman dragging along a cello that dwarfed her, and when she stammered her introduction and began torturing Saint-Saëns, it occurred to me that it could be a very long day. Seeking something else, anything else, as a distraction, I started to look over the other unfortunate audience members. Most were whispering to their friends, though the marginally more polite were passing notes, and a few were flipping anxiously through musical scores. In the midst of a particularly animated group of freshman girls, however, there was one anomalous spot of stillness, and the mere contrast drew my gaze irresistibly.

She was sitting to one side of her group, her head slightly bowed as she read the textbook that rested in her lap. Her chair was set at an angle, so that the pages best caught the light from the stage. From that angle, and with the light spilling past, I was able to see her in profile. She had long hair, worn loose and unadorned, and her features were very fresh and delicate. She was really quite pretty, and like any other teenage boy, I had a great appreciation for pretty girls. It looked as though I had found an excellent distraction.

To be completely frank, even though it was terribly rude of me, I stared at her more or less constantly for the next forty minutes or so. It was partly because the music was abysmal and nothing to pay attention to, but there really was a compelling grace about her. When the music was even somewhat above average, she closed her eyes, and I realized she was really _listening_ to it, something which could not be said about the vast majority of the other students. _I_ certainly was not. In fact, it came as a surprise when Akio poked me—really, he was just a thoroughly unpleasant person—and asked what I would be playing when I ended the classical block...after the string trio that was even then on stage.

Fortunately, no one seemed to have followed my gaze. I smiled and shrugged negligently. "I have not yet decided," I said, earning a laugh from the boys grouped around me, as well as an extremely unwelcome cuff on the shoulder, again from Akio.

"Always playing it cool, this one," he commented, to another round of laughter. I simply smiled and excused myself. Since I did not take these festivals very seriously, I had originally planned to play J.C. Bach's _Prestissimo_, on the basis that it is flashy but very short. In the past few minutes, however, I had developed a curious urge to play something more ambitious.

I did not have time to wonder where the impulse had originated, for even as I made my way to the stage, the violinist faltered. He made a few half-hearted attempts to recover, but the trio quickly shuddered to an embarrassed halt. They did not even pause to confer. As one, they picked up and fled the stage in humiliation...and then it was my turn.

"I am Seguchi Tohma, and will be playing an arrangement of the first movement of J.S. Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 in D."

I had no idea where _that_ had come from, so it was a good thing I had a great deal of practice at outwardly maintaining my poise. It was also fortunate that the piece I had just committed myself to playing was, in fact, one of my own arrangements. It had taken me a considerable amount of time, so I knew it almost literally backwards and forwards. While I settled onto the bench, I had a moment to ask myself what on earth I was doing...and then there were no more moments, only music to play.

As always, my world shrunk down to the music and the keys before me while I played. Even as part of an ensemble, the clavier's role in the first allegro of Brandenburg Concerto No. 5 is exacting. Arranged for a single piano, weaving in the melodic line, it is an exercise in sweet Baroque insanity. I love Bach for precisely that reason, for the challenge it represents. The complexity and intricacy of his genius are such that one cannot process each individual note any more than one can count the grains of sand that make up a beach. His music drenches the listener in an overwhelming rush of glorious sound, yet it requires the utmost precision and concentration from the performer. It demands the sum total of the player, subsuming every iota of thought and being.

To me, it is the quintessence of music.

It was the only thing I could think of, the only thing I could see, the only thing I could hear. It poured through me and tumbled from my fingers, using me as no more than a conduit until the very last note. When the piece ended, it was a shock akin to pain, and for a moment I felt utterly empty and desolate. Even so, as I stood up, I could not stop my eyes from going once more to the girl I had watched earlier.

Others were clapping, enthusiastically or dutifully. She was not. Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks were flushed. Looking at her, I knew she had truly and whole-heartedly listened, and that she was even now drifting back from the place the music had taken both of us. It was more profoundly gratifying than the ill-informed applause of all the other people put together, and I knew then why I had chosen the much more difficult piece.

I had been trying to impress her.

I mulled that over on the way back to my seat. After enduring the inane comments made by the boys there, it occurred to me that for once they might actually be useful. As they were all upperclassmen, and almost all from prosperous families, no few of them considered themselves ladies' men. Some may even have had a certain amount of justification. I studied them briefly, considering each—though Terada Akio was out of the question, as the only taste he possessed resided in his mouth—and made my selection.

"Excuse me, Haneda-san?" I leaned over to address Haneda Yasuo, keeping my voice low so that the music would cover the sounds of our conversation.

"Yes, Seguchi-san?" Unlike some, Yasuo did not assume familiarity. His family was successful, but not wealthy, so he was more careful than many of those in Akio's entourage. He was still a parasite, but a relatively harmless and inoffensive one. I wished I could say the same for the others, who shamelessly leaned in to listen without the slightest regard for propriety.

I controlled my flare of annoyance at their presumption, tilting my head slightly in the direction of the girl who had caught my attention. "Do you know who that freshman reading by the stage is?"

He looked. So did the others, and as one man, they began elbowing each other and exchanging knowing smiles. It was really most puzzling, especially when Yasuo turned back to me and I saw he wore the same canny grin. "That's Uesugi Mika-san, but you're barking up the wrong tree if you're interested in her."

"She doesn't date." Another boy folded his arms before him in mock piety, raising his eyes to heaven. "Daughter of the temple, and so forth."

"Yes, she's pretty, but she's strange," Akio added. "She turned _me _down, if you can believe it. Three times!"

Ashida Matsu smirked at him. "As I recall, the third time she didn't just turn you down. I seem to remember you blocking the doorway of her classroom to talk to her. Wasn't there something where the fragile flower of the temple gave you quite a talking-to, then kicked you in the shin to make you move? Somehow the phrase 'arrogant, indolent rich jerk' springs to mind..."

This was treated as hilarious by the rest. The roar of laughter was so loud that it brought a teacher over to hiss at the group. More quietly, Akio chuckled and shrugged. "Like I said, strange. Anyway, you're nearly a senior and your parents are loaded. You could get any other girl you want, so why bother with a crazy one? You'd be wasting your time, Tohma-kun."

"I see. Thank you for your input, gentlemen." I leaned back as the conversation then turned to general talk and boasting about dating experience. What I had learned only served to whet my interest. In my book, turning down Terada Akio suggested that she had good taste. I was also instantly predisposed to like any girl who had kicked him. I resolved to find out more about the intriguing Uesugi Mika-san, and soon.

I was finally able to drag my thoughts away from her when the vocalists came back into the room. Many of them went to sit down at various groups, but there were a few, unaccompanied soloists, who stayed standing at the side of the room. I recognized the upperclassmen from previous years, three girls and a boy, all of whom I already knew to be pleasant but mediocre. There were only two new faces in the lineup: a female freshman, and a male sophomore I did not recognize. I scrutinized those two in disappointment. The girl was skinny and not particularly prepossessing; I very much suspected she would be shrill and breathy. The boy was carrying, of all things, a stuffed toy. I winced inwardly. Singers really should not be allowed to have props. It never goes well.

The freshman was the first to step up, and my suspicions were borne out entirely. Not only was she piercingly shrill, she also had made a terrible mistake in choosing to sing _a cappella_. In a hideous sort of way, it was actually impressive how wildly off-center her pitch was. Most people are either sharp or flat, with flat predominating, but she was both, often within the space of a single phrase. She plowed her way through the song without even once finding the correct note. Plenty of people have little or no talent. I concluded that she had actually gone through to the other side, into anti-talent. When she finished, the applause was relieved rather than appreciative.

Then the boy took the stage. Oddly, he left his stuffed animal at the side, placing it with elaborate care and giving it a little pat on the head. He literally skipped up to the microphone stand in the center and waved at everyone. "Hi! I'm Sakuma Ryuichi, and I'm going to sing '_Ue o muite aruko'_, okay?"

I think everyone in the room felt like groaning at that announcement. Although it was a vaguely interesting twist to perform it _a cappella_, the song had been done to death even then. Just as I started to tune him out, however, he froze, staring into the distance. For a moment, I thought he had forgotten the words. But then...he changed.

I watched in fascination as his childishness drained away. It was as though someone had hit a switch somewhere. The only way I can think of to describe it is to say that when he looked up again, he suddenly snapped into focus. It was impossible to look away from him.

And then he began to sing.

Gone was the young, sing-song voice he had used to introduce himself. This voice was untrained, but rich and powerful and thrilling nonetheless, with a timbre that filled the stage to overflowing. I forgot that I had heard the song a thousand times before. I was caught up in the captivating ease and deftness of his phrasing, in his seemingly effortless command, in the aching purity of his expression. He soared, and his voice owned the room.

I soared with him, for I knew instantly that his voice could own the world.

He was what I had been waiting for, and more. The first piece was within my grasp.

He left the stage to an explosion of applause—even teachers were jumping to their feet. Somehow, my gaze went of its own accord to Uesugi Mika, and I saw that she was once again still, once again awed. In that moment, she was transcendently beautiful, and for an instant I could not breathe.

Perhaps I had found the second piece, too.

* * *

_a cappella_ – vocal or choral performance without instrumental accompaniment  
_amabile_ – charming, gracious, amiable  
_sempre_ – always  
_subito_ – suddenly; at once; immediately  
"_Ue o muite aruko"_ – lit. "Let's walk while looking up". A very famous piece originally performed by Sakamoto Kyu in the1960s; an important song in the early J-pop movement. It has since been covered (and sometimes translated) innumerable times, often under the alternate title "Sukiyaki". 

_A/N_: I've decided it really makes more sense all around to present names and honorifics more in the Japanese style. The previous three chapters have been edited accordingly.


End file.
